Mehti tossed his feet up between us, huffing when Diya shoved them off the bench. “The children in our town tell stories about Dar al Mansi. A boy offered to trade me his rock when we were in school if I stepped inside its bounds.”
“Did you?” Diya asked grudgingly. Mehti was entertaining in his own odd way, and I enjoyed the distraction from listening to the carriage wheels rumble.
“It was a very nice rock.” He sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “The other boys were impressed.”
“What does it matter?” Diya returned to the window. “Dar al Mansi is only dangerous during the Alcalah. The captured creatures stay in Nizahlan prisons the rest of the time.”
Unlike Ayume Forest, Dar al Mansi lacked any corruption at its core. Called “home of the forgotten” after the village buried within it, Dar al Mansi was a new addition to the Alcalah. Preparing for this trial caused Arin no small amount of tension.
Two years after the Blood Summit, groups of Jasadis fleeing Rawain’s siege stumbled across the lonely Omalian village. On Arin’s map, Dar al Mansi was linked to Omal proper in a warped hourglass shape. Dar al Mansi sat at the bottom, shrouded in Essam Woods, and Omal at the top. The village was already abandoned when the Jasadis happened upon it, left to the wilderness by its previous occupants. The sketches Arin gave me at the start of training had one image of the Jasadis living happily, disturbing no one, their magic reviving the land around them. The next charcoal sketch showed Nizahl and Omal forces creeping through Essam, surrounding the village from every side.
The Jasadis in Dar al Mansi sensed the encroachment and pooled their magic to draw Essam Woods into the village. Trees sprouted inside homes, munban nests replaced shop floors, and muddy soil rippled over the rocky terrain. Their magic drained from such a surge of power, the Jasadis were helpless to defend themselves. Scholars believed they ordered Essam Woods to cover their village in hopes of confusing the soldiers. I had studied the sketches Arin gave me for hours; the Jasadis knew their fate when they spent their magic. It was acceptable to them. Allowing Nizahl and Omal to destroy a second home was not.
A grove of trees over a wooded hillside kept Dar al Mansi separated from the other Omal towns. Any creatures the Champions failed to exterminate would be left to the soldiers.
“What are the three trophies you want?” Mehti asked. “The last Alcalah, a Champion emerged with the head of a nisnas, a feather from Al Anqa’a, and a viroli’s tail. I want to try to slice a piece off a zulal, if they have one.”
“I want a trophy from the three easiest things to kill,” Diya said. “As though crossing the village alive is not its own challenge. A zulal? You are going to anger a worm wider than Hirun and tall as Essam’s trees in hopes that the audience will cheer louder when you emerge? We’re only required to bring three pieces of evidence of our kills, and that is all I will do.”
“Where is your sportsmanship?” Mehti pouted. “The battle vigor of Orban’s Awala should be reflected in her Champion.”
The carriage bounced, rocking from side to side. Diya looked down her nose at Mehti—quite the achievement, considering she was half his size. “This trial celebrates your demented Awala, not mine. Dania did not keep company with savage creatures.”
“What do you call the khawaga, then?”
I traced the handle of the carriage door. I dreaded the second trial most of all. It was harder to ignore the reality of my betrayal while walking through a graveyard of my people as Nizahl’s Champion.
“The Omalian patrol is waiting in Essam Woods to slay any creatures escaping Dar al Mansi,” I said, silencing the pair. I hadn’t spoken since the carriage left the palace grounds. “I wonder if the soldiers would attack us.”
“Why on earth would they? We aren’t monsters,” Mehti said, appalled.
Neither were the Jasadis, I almost said.
“What makes us any different? We are entering this village to kill and maim. In the measure of monster or man, what tips the scales?”
Mehti only looked further scandalized at the question. Diya’s lips pursed. Contemplative.
The carriage juddered to a halt. “Omal Champion, descend!” the driver called. Unlike Ayume, we were dropped off at different starting points for the second trial. Mehti puffed his chest, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “A good hunt is just what I need to revive me from this bore of a conversation. For Kapastra!” He bounded from the carriage, rapping his fist against the side of the carriage. Diya and I watched him excitedly sift through the weapons provided for him.